


Software Issue

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Sexual Dysfunction, mild depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on after Gauda Prime-- well, for those who survived. Blake and Avon have reconciled and Blake would like to take their relationship a step beyond friends. Avon isn't up to the challenge.</p><p>But Blake can be very patient when the goal is worth it.</p><p>(This is serious and cracky, pretty much the way life is. Absurd situations happen, so do life-and-death scenarios. You roll with it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Floppy Disk Failure

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Avon had stopped trying. There comes a time when even the most stubborn must recognize futility. After all, it was unlikely this particular problem was going to kill him, not with so many others lining up and vying for the privilege, so why give a damn about it?

Blake had survived, his base had been successfully retaken before they'd all transferred to the rag-tag rebel fleet that Blake had disguised as a planetary blockade. Mutual cock-ups had been exchanged (Blake's 'invitation' not giving Orac the passcode, Avon's paranoia not giving Blake a chance to explain). Mutual regret over the death of allies had also been formally expressed. Avon wouldn't admit it, but he'd miss Tarrant, probably more than Blake would miss Klyn.

So, back to business as usual. Blake gave the orders, Avon went from ship to ship, trouble-shooting (and Blake didn't even wince at that description) and offering absolutely no advice, to anyone, on any subject. He still had opinions, but kept them locked behind a tight smile that warned all the others away. Well, all the others with any sense. Whenever he happened to be on the same ship as Vila, he'd find himself working while listening to a monologue of current events, gossip, and bad jokes with the occasional sharp insight that he reluctantly stored away for future use. As if there was a future.

And when he was on the same ship as Blake... Blake would mention something he planned, and Avon would nod, without bothering to analyze what he perceived as flaws- after all, he'd screwed up so badly on his own, obviously his judgment wasn't worth a damn. Blake would look dissatisfied. Sometimes he'd just sit next to Avon, in silence. Sometimes he'd try to talk about _Liberator_ , but not very often. Avon prided himself on keeping his feelings on the subject from showing, but he suspected Blake knew.

When he felt able to attempt sleep- always an elusive prospect, more so every year- he would find the nearest unoccupied compartment, set up the air mattress he brought with him and lie down in the dark. Sometimes he would manage four or five hours at a stretch. Nightmares no longer troubled him, fear having been worn down by repeated usage until it was a smooth, round stone he carried with him constantly, formless and heavy, with no sharp edges to stimulate avoidance.

So when the light came on in the engine room, he opened his eyes without haste and sat up, running a hand through his hair to comb it roughly into place. He blinked as his eyes focused. "Blake? Is there a problem?" He was reaching for his clothes even as he spoke. He slept in the nude. They hadn't the luxury of a wardrobe room. A foolish thing to regret, when he'd lost so many more important things-- but then, it's safest to mourn the inconsequential.

"Yes, Avon." Blake moved to stand over him. "I need you the way you were."

Avon let his hand fall to his side. "Yes, well, we seldom get what we need, I've discovered." He waited for Blake to become frustrated and leave.

Blake knelt beside him. "That doesn't mean we stop trying." He put his hand on Avon's cheek and kissed him.

Avon closed his eyes and allowed it. When Blake pulled back, Avon looked at him with a rueful smile and shook his head. "Your timing is flawed, Blake."

"Is it?" Blake's hand traced light circles over Avon's belly. "The attraction is still there, even though we never acted on it."

"True. But that's all it is, attraction."

"Do you really want to settle for mindless sex? I can do that, if that's what you need, Avon."

Avon barked a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you can. But I can't, Blake." He spelled it out quickly, ripping the bandage from the wound so the pain would be sharp and over quickly. "I'm totally impotent. Have been for most of the last two years. Apparently, stress killed my libido. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep." He lay back down, closing his eyes. He didn't want to see pity in Blake's face. Anything but that.

There was a long moment of silence before he heard Blake moving to the bulkhead and the snap of the light turning off and then the slide-hiss of the compartment door shutting. Avon tried to relax, he needed to rest, there was always more work to do, and his hands needed to be steady. Work was all he had left, he couldn't risk being denied that, too. He was nearly asleep when the door opened again. He opened his eyes in the dark. "Blake?" Who else would it be?

"Go back to sleep." Blake was close. There was the sound of an air mattress inflating, and then the breeze and soft thump of it landing on the deck beside his own. Avon started to sit up. "Back to your position," Blake ordered.

Avon let out a soft huff of annoyance as he obeyed. Blake lay down beside him and took Avon in his arms. His warm, naked arms. "It won't help," Avon said. "Nothing will."

"It will help me." Blake rubbed a hand down Avon's spine. "And when you're ready, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere this time, Avon."

Perhaps the hard stone in his gut softened slightly. Avon couldn't tell. He was too tired. "Neither am I."


	2. Chaste and Chased

Avon still went from ship to ship, but now Blake went with him. It made sense in a way. Wherever Blake was, was the flagship, but even after the Federation realized Blake's fleet was becoming an active nuisance they had no way of singling it out. The fleet broke up into fighting units, into propaganda and recruitment units and swept through the non-aligned planets swiftly, hitting the most vulnerable places and then gone again usually before Federation flotillas could engage them. Then they reformed into larger groups for assaults against areas weakened by the lack of those same hopelessly outdistanced flotillas.

Orac hadn't enjoyed the few hours spent under Sleer's command and had suddenly become extremely helpful, discovering newfound patience for sifting data from Federation channels and presenting technological upgrades stolen from every civilization across the universe. Blake's rattletraps were now rattlesnakes, swift and deadly. While life hadn't remotely become safe, Avon admitted to occasionally having a brief moment of optimism.

And Blake slept with him. If a ship possessed the luxury of a spare cabin, Blake matter-of-factly collected Avon after a day's work and took him to share the bed. If not, they shared air mattresses, or in one unforgettably crowded ship carrying wounded to Lindor for recuperation, they slept curled up on the flight deck in a puppy pile with Vila, Deva, Dayna, and Soolin. 

Blake casually ran his hands over Avon in public, now. Blake, who had been the least 'touchy' of them all, would clasp Avon's shoulder to get his attention, ruffle Avon's hair when Avon sulked, and kiss him silent when Avon cursed the impossibility of merging Orac's upgrades in yet another entirely different ship's system. They got a few odd looks at first, but since more than a few of the rebels were fucking like minks with the first warm body they found, it seemed likely they were only puzzled that it didn't go any further than that. None of the ships was so large or well sound-proofed that you didn't _know_ when someone got laid.

"Time to rest, Avon." Blake's hand laid on Avon's shoulder, rubbing at stiff muscle. "Deva's got the next shift."

Avon considered protesting, but he was tired. "All right." He followed Blake, still thinking about recalcitrant circuits and paying no attention to their route. He blinked when they turned a corner and his nose informed him they were in the infirmary. "Blake?"

Blake shrugged. "No one's using it, and the exam beds are fairly good. Besides, I want to look at your back. It's been bothering you."

"It's nothing. I don't need a doctor."

"I agree. You need a back massage. I'm quite good at them." Blake pointed to the nearest exam bed. "Strip and get on your belly."

Avon rolled his eyes. "You're going to nag at me until I give in, aren't you?"

Blake just smiled. Avon sighed, stripped and got onto the bed.

"There, that wasn't so difficult." Blake went over to the supply cabinets. "I'll just get the oil." He pressed the wall com button on his way, and soft music, something old from Sarkoff's collection, began playing.

Avon turned his head to look at Blake.

"I find music relaxing. And it's easier to give you a proper massage if you cooperate." Blake opened a bottle of oil. It smelled herbal, faintly woodsy and spicy. 

"That never is medicinal."

"A little something I picked up when we last traded. It's supposed to be calming and I like the way it smells. After all, it's going to be on my hands, too." Blake began taking off his clothes. "No sense getting my clothes oily."

Avon was not an innocent. "It's a lot of trouble to go to, to seduce me. I've already said you can fuck me any time you like. I wouldn't mind."

"I have never made love with anyone because they 'wouldn't mind'. I'm not starting now." Blake sounded a little angry.

"All right, get on with it, so we can both get some sleep. Your other campaign will need you fresh in the morning." Avon closed his eyes and settled in a position he would have considered vulnerable, if the other person in the room hadn't been Blake. 

"I know how to pace myself." Blake began kneading Avon's nape, slow and thorough. "By the way, this oil is totally non-toxic. So I can do this." 

Avon felt Blake's tongue, warm and wet, on his back. He waited a moment to see if the intimacy did anything for him. No, not yet. But... it felt safe. He relaxed under Blake's idea of a massage, which involved hands, lips, tongue and the occasional, perhaps involuntary, erection sliding in the oil on his back. Blake moaned.

Avon rolled over, sleepily and smiled at Blake. "Sorry, the Magic Healing Cock hasn't worked."

Blake's expression was rather desperate, but his voice was steady. "Not yet."

"Come here, Blake." Such effort deserved what little reward Avon could give. He held out his hands.

Blake sighed. "All right, this time." He moved closer as Avon sat up. "You're a stubborn bastard."

Avon grinned against Blake's shoulder as he pumped him to orgasm. "Takes one to know one."

Blake came and leaned against Avon, breathing heavily. "You just wait until tomorrow night."

Avon stroked Blake's hair. "I'm looking forward to it."


	3. Deserted

Avon opened his eyes and looked at Blake, lying beside him. "Well. That was interesting."

Blake leaned over Avon. "Don't blame me for your bruises. You were on top." He banged on the bulkhead until the hatch opened with a thump. Heat and the smell of overheated metals entered the chamber. Blake coughed.

Avon peered past Blake at the outside world. "On the bright side, the air isn't immediately toxic."

"You really know how to brighten my day, Avon." Blake heaved himself out of the life pod and stood on glittering white ground, looking around. "Seems to be a salt desert. No Federation in sight."

Avon followed Blake, dragging Orac with him to dump on the ground. "Too busy chasing the rest of your fleet. We were betrayed, Blake."

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter at the moment." Blake glanced down at Orac. "If Orac's working, have it send a distress call with our coordinates on the secure frequency."

"Why do I dislike the sound of that?"

"Stay here. I'm going to find water."

"Ah, that's why I disliked the sound of it." Avon put Orac's key in. "Orac, do you have any information about the planet we're currently on?"

"Of course I do!"

"Such as the nearest populated area, or source of drinking water?"

Orac buzzed in annoyance. "I am not an atlas!"

"I didn't think so. Orac, send a distress call with your present coordinates on the secure frequency." Avon picked Orac up and deposited it back in the life-pod. He dusted salt off his hands and looked at Blake. "Which way are we going?"

Blake worried at a thumbnail. "It would make sense for one of us to stay with Orac."

"So it would." Avon flashed Blake a grin. "Which way are we going?"

Blake sighed. "Away from the sun."

Avon nodded and moved to Blake's side. "I would suggest we wait to start until nightfall, but..."

Blake looked at the metal lifepod. "We might as well cook while we're walking." Blake reached out for Avon's hand. "Come on."

Avon clasped Blake's hand and began walking. The ground was smooth, hard, and glittered fiercely. He looked back only once at the lifepod. After a while, Blake paused to rip lengths from his shirt to wrap around their eyes to cut the glare. Then they plodded on in silence.

Avon began to imagine that the ground was moving under him and all he had to do was lift his feet. It was oddly peaceful in a 'we are going to die, but there's nothing to worry about' way. They were doing all they could do. If it wasn't enough, well, no blame on either of them. The day advanced, the sun sliding down further sending their shadows into thin black marching figures leading the way. After a while they stopped holding hands because it became uncomfortable, but it didn't matter, they didn't need to touch, or to talk. Everything had been said. Avon was content, if this was the end.

When the shadows were indistinguishable from the ground they stopped and sat down on the salt, which had cooled somewhat. Blake pulled Avon close to him. They were both sucked dry of sweat, and burning hot. Avon leaned against Blake. After a while he cleared his throat. "Shall we go on?"

Blake brushed a hand over Avon's cheek. "When the stars come out. We'll choose a likely one and follow it."

Avon smiled. "Don't we always." They watched the sky together, and rose together when one particularly bright star appeared in the direction they'd been going. It was a long night. When Avon found himself lying on the ground with Blake beside him, he looked up at the stars once more, and then fell asleep, at peace.

Unfortunately, morning arrived and they were still there. Blake smiled through cracked lips. Avon shook his head, and they walked again. The desert wavered around them, heat illusions blue as clear springs, and then distant cities floating on the horizon. Blake stopped and Avon walked right into him. "What?" he croaked.

"Look."

Avon blinked his dry eyelids and stared at ... were those splotches tents? Were those moving dots people? "Illusion?"

"Come on."

Having no better option, Avon staggered along with Blake, up until there were shouts, and a rush of people and Avon reached for a gun he didn't have, trying to get in front of Blake, and it was all confusion and color and oh God, cold fruit juice, sweet and stinging down his throat, and Blake beside him, grinning with purple juice running down the sides of his mouth. Avon grabbed Blake and kissed him, under the burning sun, Blake tasting of salt and sweet and life. The crowd laughed and cheered, and hauled them to a tent with blessedly cool conditioned air where a medic gave them more fluids, checked them over and escorted them to a curtained off alcove to rest until someone could be found willing to miss the rest of the salt flat races in order to drive them to the city an hour away.

Avon looked at Blake. "There's no hurry," he told the medic. When the medic went off to attend to someone feeling faint from the heat, Avon tore open a packet of aloe gel and turned to Blake. "Your back must be sore."

Blake flexed his shoulders and smiled. "I'm fine. But I would enjoy a massage with that gel."

"Lie down and let me give you a hand."

Blake looked down at Avon's crotch and his grin widened. "A hand?"

"Well, there may be other things on offer. One never knows."

Blake put his arms around Avon and kissed him. Avon was hard, hard and needy and wanting, oh wanting so very badly. "Will you love me, Avon?"

"You know I will. You always knew." They pulled apart long enough to strip. They kissed briefly before Avon shook his head. "I can't... I can't take it slow this time, Blake. If someone comes..."

"If someone comes, it'll be us." Blake pulled Avon down to the soft mattress on the ground, still salt underneath that, but cool, tamed and safe. He moaned as Avon used the gel on both of them and maneuvered Blake into position to take his cock while Avon looked in his eyes. Blake was... so happy. Avon gasped and pushed in, watching as Blake's eyelids half-closed in concentration. "Come on, Avon. It's all right. It's always going to be all right."

And then Avon was pushing and pulling, and the heat was sweaty and together and joining, not the parched burning of desert and loneliness. He didn't last long before crying out and coming hard, falling to rest on Blake's heaving belly, feeling Blake's hands between them working himself. He eased up enough to join one hand around Blake's, working together, until Blake called Avon's name and came.

It was quite a while after that before the medic returned and draped a blanket over them as they slept.


	4. Freedom Fighting

Without the proper equipment, Avon couldn't locate Orac, which didn't really matter because without transport they couldn't go through the salt desert to get it. And while Salt City had humane provisions for food, basic clothing and shelter for the indigent, they didn't run a free bus service to tour the desert. 

Blake stood in front of the job wall at the shelter, reading. Avon had given up in disgust. Without proof of training, neither he nor Blake could get a position in any of the computer or engineering fields, and while Avon hadn't a strong aversion to manual labor for its own sake, they'd never earn enough by washing dishes. Blake turned to Avon suddenly, the set of his shoulders optimistic. 

"What?"

"Look, this is perfect! Freedom fighters!" Blake took the paper from the wall, and showed it to Avon. "No formal requirements, just pass a basic physical and the sliding pay scale..."

"Yes, I see, if you 'rise in the ranks', whatever that means. And who are they fighting? These people are so neutral even the Federation isn't interested in them. You can get salt anywhere."

"We need the money, Avon." Blake nipped at a knuckle, briefly showing his true feelings that he usually hid under a facade of cheerful unconcern. "We don't know what happened to ... the others."

"Fine, all right. I don't mind being mercenary." Avon glanced around the indigent barracks. "The first thing we spend our wages on is private quarters."

Blake threw an arm around Avon's shoulders. "One room will do."

Avon smiled. "Yes, yes it will." 

They walked to the address on the form, and stopped outside of a windowless building, with FREEDOM FIGHTERS! painted in large, bright lettering. Avon blinked. "This isn't exactly a secretive organization, I take it."

Blake shrugged. "Popular support. Come on." He led the way through the indicated 'Apply for Freedom Fighting here' door, down a rather scruffy corridor and into an office crowded with stacks of paper and assorted office supplies.

A rather harried, heavyset man looked up from his desk. "Yes?"

"We're here to apply for the position of Freedom Fighters," Blake said.

The man stood up and looked them over. "What are your favorite colors?"

Blake blinked and glanced at Avon. "I like green. Avon's fond of black."

The man nodded. "Do you want to work as a team?"

"Yes, we've been together a long time," Blake said.

"Right. FRED!" the man shouted. "Come out and give these two their physicals." He turned back to face Blake. "Either of you allergic to leather, rubber, lycra or feathers?"

Avon cleared his throat as Blake seemed on the verge of walking out on this lunatic. "No."

Fred was a scrawny woman with gray hair tied in a sloppy knot. She plopped a worn black bag down on a clear space of table. "Strip." When neither Blake nor Avon moved, she rolled her eyes. "Freedom Fighters haven't time for modesty." She waved her hand in a hurry-up way. "You haven't got anything I haven't seen. Well, do you want the jobs or not?"

They stripped. Fred carried out a basic exam with amazing swiftness, pulled out a rubber stamp and stamped 'Passed' on two blank applications which she tossed at the man who'd returned to his deskwork. "What colors, George?"

"Black for him," the man nodded in Avon's direction. "Green for the other."

Fred looked at them as they stood in dignified nudity. She nodded. "That'll work. I'll be right back. Don't get dressed, just fill out the paperwork." She snatched up the black bag and strode out of the room. 

"Right." George picked up the forms, blew on the ink to dry it and then handed them to Avon and Blake. "Fill in all the boxes. Be honest where ever you feel like it. The only important thing is the tax ID, which is pre-printed. Government gets their cut, they don't kick about anything else." He handed them each a chewed stub of pencil.

Bemused, they filled in the forms creatively and handed them back. In return he used a plastic labeling machine to make ID bracelets with their tax numbers and FREEDOM FIGHTER in huge, yellow letters. "Stay long enough and you'll get photo ID." He tossed them the IDs and went to a wall-comm unit to berate someone about the quality of some sort of hot sausage.

Fred returned with a bundle of fabrics, in shades of green and black. "Freshly laundered and sanitized, don't worry." She tossed the black at Avon, and the green at Blake. "Self-fitting, but the trimmings will need adjusting."

Slowly they dressed, looking at each other in dawning horror. Fred walked around them when they were done, methodically poking and prodding. Avon was covered in a skin-tight black bodysuit, liberally decorated with glittering gold stars and several silver moons placed in embarrassing locations. Blake's bodysuit was shades of green with dangling festoons like leaves, also in embarrassing places. They had masks, too. Avon's was silver crescent moons with eyeholes outlined in black, while Blake's seemed to be vines in green with brown edging. Fred gave Avon one last pat on the arse, walked back to George's desk and sat down. "Well, you look good. How much wrestling experience do you have?"

Avon closed his eyes. Beside him, he heard Blake draw a deep breath.

"None at all," Fred said. "Fine, you start at the first level, tag team random. We don't fix the matches unless you get popular." She looked Avon and Blake over again. "You might." She handed Blake a sheet of paper. "Follow the diagram to the training arena. Your first match is tonight. You get paid after each match. Win and you get paid double. Get the crowd shouting loud enough to ring the bell, and winners get paid triple."

Once they left the office, Avon looked at Blake. "We could get our clothes back and run for it."

"Oh, come on, this might be fun." Blake put his arm around Avon's shoulder.

 

Later that night, Avon had to agree. 'Freedom' meant there weren't many rules- you weren't supposed to maim or seriously injure your opponents, but how you got them to admit defeat was otherwise up to you. Their opponents were a pair of long-haired blond giants, brothers from the look of them, dressed in gold fake armor with masks like horned helmets. And they roared and beat their chests and in general tried to drive the crowd wild. Avon noticed the sound meter wasn't anywhere near the bell. He had no objection to being dramatic, so he cheerfully began using exaggerated vaguely karate strikes and kicks. The rubber body suit footpads weren't half as good as boots, but you don't get boots until you've stayed long enough to be worth the expense, he was told.

Blake actually wrestled his opponent, closing with him to grapple, but Avon was wary of the weight discrepancy and avoided closing with his man. He didn't want to be squeezed by anyone but Blake. The crowd appreciated the karate and kicks, but not enough. 

Avon was distracted by a grunt from Blake and didn't backpedal in time. He was caught, picked up by neck and crotch, which was something he didn't even want Blake to do, spun around and around several times and then flung the length of the ring. He landed on the resilient surface, all amusement gone, and lunged for the man in a white-hot fury after a wasted instant groping for a non-existent gun.

"Avon!" Blake shouted.

Avon jerked to a halt, then shook his head. Blake was being gripped too hard. Hard enough to break ribs, he thought. To hell with this. Avon kneed his opponent in the crotch and ran over to Blake. He sized up the struggle, and then grabbed the waistband of the 'armor' to give the giant one hell of a wedgie. The muffled scream encouraged Blake who picked the other man up in his arms, leaning back to slide down far enough to compress his gut- which had the softness of many fermented grain beverages. The man squeaked and turned purple before raising his hands in defeat. Blake dropped him and stretched, panting.

Avon looked around. His opponent was curled up and whimpering. The crowd was cheering, but still not enough. Well, there weren't any rules what you had to do to please the crowd. And from what he'd seen of these people... Avon grabbed Blake and kissed him thoroughly. The crowd noise rose. Blake immediately responded by groping Avon's arse. More cheering. 

Fred was right, modesty was not a part of the job. Bodysuits peeled off quickly. Avon knelt to suck Blake into readiness. The noise was pounding against him like his own racing heartbeat. The meter was going up, up. Blake's ribs were apparently not that badly damaged at all, as he pushed Avon around, mounted and fucked him wildly. The bell rang.

Avon thought this was probably the best job he'd ever had.


	5. A Grain of Salt

"It's almost a pity to retire, when we're at the top of the rankings," Avon said as he settled into the rental desert explorer. 

"If I had known you were an exhibitionist, it would have saved me a great deal of time." Blake leaned over to kiss Avon and grope him thoroughly while the cluster of Freedom Fighter Fans whistled and cheered and waved banners. "But all good things come to an end."

"Do they?"

"Well... perhaps not everything." Blake started up the engine. "I kept my boots and mask."

Avon grinned as he adjusted his shiny new receiver to pick up Orac's frequency. "So did I."

Tracing Orac took most of the day. "Orac? Have you made contact with the rebels?" Blake asked.

Orac made a whining electronic noise, roughly the equivalent of a coughing fit. Avon raised his eyebrows. "Orac, respond. Have you contacted the rebels?"

"Yes. Yes." Orac 'coughed' again. "My vocal apparatus is severely..." Another burst of static. "Impeded by the..."

"Are they coming to get us, are they all right?" Blake snapped.

"Yes. Yes." Orac then went into a shrill heterodyning whine before Avon winced and pulled his communications key free.

Blake looked at Avon. "I think we've voided Orac's warranty."

"Just some salt corrosion on the external communications links," Avon decided after peering into it. "I'll do a rough clean-out here, but a thorough job requires tools I don't have."

"No hurry, Orac told us the most important news. Anything else can wait." Blake smiled. "They're coming."

By the time Avon cleaned the drifted salt out of Orac's casing stars were beginning to appear. "No sense trying to get back to the city at night. We might break an axle on a rock," Blake said cheerfully as he set up a self-inflating, fully-equipped comfort tent.

Avon looked around at the mathematically smooth and level salt flats. "And then we'd lose the damage deposit." 

"That would never do." 

Blake held the tent flap open. Avon entered with Orac in his arms and put the computer down to one side amid piled cushions covering a luxury air-mattress. The smell of gourmet food came from a low folding table. There was a pop as Blake opened a bottle of fizzy wine. "You've been busy, I see." 

"I hoped we'd have something to celebrate. And I also hope you don't actually need an audience." Blake poured the wine into two glasses and set the bottle down.

"Well, now, an audience of one might suffice. If the one was sufficiently appreciative." Avon accepted a glass of wine and sipped at it. "I'm actually... hungry." He sat down on a cushion by the table and was joined a moment later by Blake. By unspoken mutual consensus they didn't talk about rebellion or anything else that mattered while they ate. After a few minutes conversation died down, and they picked at the food.

"I thought you were hungry," Blake remarked.

"I am." Avon leaned across the table to kiss Blake. The food and the table were pushed aside. Clothes were flung across the tent. Blake's white shirt wound up draped over Orac, lights flickering through it. "I want you, Blake."

"You have me." Blake leaned over Avon, pressing him back into the cushions. "And I have you."

"Yes." Avon rubbed against Blake. "How well prepared are you for a celebration?"

"Incredibly." Blake thrust against Avon for a few moments before getting onto his hands and knees. "Celebrate with me, Kerr."

"Yes, Roj." Avon checked that Blake wasn't exaggerating his readiness before getting into position. "You know I'll always follow you."

Blake laughed. "Go on, then." He braced himself.

Avon didn't need a second invitation. He got into Blake quickly and began moving in the way they liked best. The comfort tent's conditioning unit hummed, Orac's little twinkly noises went on, the cushions scrunched, Blake and Avon moaned. It wasn't actually noisy in the tent, but they weren't listening for anything else, letting the pleasure fill them to the exclusion of all else.

So when the tent flap opened and Deva peered in and then shouted, "Oh, my GOD, MY EYES, MY EYES!" and leapt away, it was a complete surprise. Avon thrust hard, Blake yelled, there was a flurry of wild motion and some rather embarrassing words shouted. Then Avon slumped over Blake. "I may kill Orac."

"Stand in line, Avon." Blake patted him on the leg. "After all, you've promised to follow me."

"So I have." Avon sighed and rubbed his cheek against Blake's back.


End file.
